


Not A Michael Cera Story

by pr_scatterbrain



Category: Actor RPF, Klaxons, Music RPF, Social Network (2010) RPF
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Hipsters, Horrible people need friends too, M/M, Multi, Rooney doesn't need friends when she has an endless supple of black dresses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 15:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pr_scatterbrain/pseuds/pr_scatterbrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Sometimes it feels like their lives are the plot of a B movie.</i> </p><p>Or a random hipster rpf about Rooney Mara wearing a lot of black Givenchy dresses, being rich and miserable, and a horrible person who doesn't want any friends. She does need them though, which is where Keira and Jesse come into the picture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not A Michael Cera Story

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for The Social Network bigbang and I have to thank the mods for organising the challenge. I also have to thank Saire, Laura, and huntingdog for reading some of the earlier drafts and being the three most wonderful sounding boards I could have. Last but not least, I have to thank salvadore-hart for telling me to screw writing a Hunger Games au and instead write 10K about awful people being awful to each other while being exceedingly well dressed. If anyone is to blame for this, it's her. She was also kind enough to make some seriously lovely art to accompany this, which you can find here: http://salvadore-hart.livejournal.com/48238.html

 

 

 

_Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go._

Oscar Wilde.

 _A_ _friend is the man who knows all about you, and still likes you._

Elbert Hubbard.

 

 

 

 

Jesse’s cat dies while Rooney is on holiday in the South of France. When she gets back to LA, he comes over and it comes up within the first ten minutes of small talk.

He sounds upset. He is upset, Rooney supposes, since his cat died.

“Don’t you have other cats?”

He looks at her. “I did. Once.”

God _,_ Rooney thinks. God.

She struggles to think of something else to say. “Do you want me to drive you to a shelter?”

“Cats aren’t library books. I can’t just get another one.”

Rooney is pretty sure he can. But she’s also pretty sure that’s the wrong thing to say.

“I can still drive you, somewhere.”

“I have a license,” he tells her.

“Oh. Is it valid?”

He doesn’t reply.

 

 

“That is why I don’t take you anywhere nice, Roo,” Kate says when Rooney mentions the conversation the next time she sees her sister.

They’re at a party, but only because Kate didn’t have anything better to do. It isn’t a very good one though, which is surprising as Joseph Gordon Levitt is throwing it. According to Ellen Page, they randomly ran into each other at Whole Foods that very morning and Joseph said, _‘let’s throw a party’_ and so they did. The corner of Kate’s eyes crinkle she retells the story to Rooney. Rooney doesn’t really get why until Kate explains that Zooey Deschanel is supposed to be in town. Only Zooey’s sister Emily is here though, but Rooney thinks it could have been worse. Then again she always thinks that at parties.

“What should I have said?” she asks, honestly curious.

“What?” Kate asks, confused.

“To Jesse.”

Kate rolls her eyes, as if it’s so simple. “How about ‘ _I’m sorry’_? That usually works pretty well in situations like that.”

“‘I’m sorry’?”

Kate sighs. “Again, this is why I don’t take you anywhere nice.”

Kate doesn’t really take Rooney anywhere anymore. Not since last Paris fashion week when Rooney accidentally wore the same a pair of Fendi heels to the Chanel show and they were featured in Fashion Police’s ‘ _Bitch stole my look_ ’ segment. (Rooney won by twenty seven percent of the vote).

Across the room, Kate spots Robert Downy Jr. and just like that she’s gone. Vaguely Rooney hears her call him ‘ _Bobby_ ’ and him call her ‘ _Pumpkin._ ’

 

 

(Kate’s always been the personable one out of the two of them. But that’s not really saying anything).

 

 

 As far as things go, Kate and Rooney are close.

When they were children they weren’t particularly. More often than not Kate was busy with a multitude of afterschool activities which left little time for an annoying younger sister, not that Rooney was particularly annoying. Content having a minimum of Kate’s time and attention, Rooney easily co-existed at arm’s length with Kate. It wasn’t until they were older – until Rooney was older – that they fell into a more comfortable relationship with each other. It’s a feat that is probably more to do with Kate than Rooney, but Rooney appreciates it all the same.

When Rooney first decided to pursue acting, they lived together for a period. Now they see each other a few times a month, and are able to stand each other long enough to go on the occasional mini-break together. It suits Rooney perfectly fine. Kate too. Or so Rooney assumes.

Though they’re around the same age, Kate has always felt far older to Rooney. She’s been dating Max Minghella for a while now. They make a pretty good couple. At least Rooney thinks as much and she guesses they do too.  Kate seems content whenever Max is in the same room she’s in and he still laughs at her jokes. He gets on with their parents too, and she with his. Rooney isn’t sure how that works but she gets that it’s important that it does. 

While Kate and Rooney were holidaying in France, Kate talked a little about how she and Max were thinking of moving in together. Apart from family, Rooney’s never lived with anyone in her entire life. The concept feels strange and slightly intrusive. But Kate’s seriously considering it, and considering how long they’ve been together, it probably makes sense to her even if it doesn’t to Rooney. But to be fair, a lot of things don’t make sense to Rooney.

When Rooney goes to Kate’s place to watch the Steelers match with them, Max asks her how Jesse is doing.

“He just got off that Woody Allen movie, didn’t he?” Max says.

Rooney nods. “About a month ago.”

She gets why people do Woody Allen films. She wouldn’t say no to one either. There’s always the off chance it could turn out to be a good one. Jesse hasn’t said much about the experience to her though. From various third parties, Rooney gets that Ellen still invites him over to her place and that Greta occasionally makes the effort to say hello to him whenever they’re in the same room. That’s a good sign.

Jesse’s always had trouble figuring out how to be friend with people in real life.

In front of cameras and on film sets it’s easy. There is a script and there is a role. They tide him over. It’s when shooting ends and everyone goes home that things start to unravel for him. It’s the other way around for Rooney. But she’s never been able to draw lines in the sand.

There is something so artificial about being on set. Like the whole thing is one elaborate song and dance number away from falling apart but everyone is working too intently to acknowledge it. Equally LA tends to feel the same to her; everyone so certain they have power and so happy to demonstrate. She has never shaken that feeling. It’s probably why she had never managed to properly emulate the kind of earnestness that is Jesse’s stock and trade. Kate can, but Kate has always been better at the in between moments that catch people like Jesse and Rooney off guard.  It’s probably why Kate’s in a relationship while Rooney’s negotiating a three picture deal with Paramount.

  

 

For the record, Kate and Rooney don’t do the sibling rivalry thing.

So terribly passé. Just ask anyone (other than an Olsen).

 

 

Jesse drops over three more times before the week is out.

Rooney finds out on the last visit that this is because he has a house guest.

“Andrew was worried so he asked Keira to stay with me for a bit.”

“Keira Knightley?”

“Yeah,” Jesse shrugs. “She’s nice.”

Keira Knightley isn’t nice.

Rooney has no idea what possessed Andrew to come up with the arrangement. She doubts Jesse does either. Keira – well, Rooney knows better than to assume what she might think about anything.

 

 

In case anyone is keeping tabs on the who’s and where’s and why’s, Andrew of the Garfield’s is in NYC. He’s doing a play. On Broadway. It’s tragic, really, at how good he is at being an actor to watch.

(Emma Stone is in NYC too. But Rooney forgets that more often than she remembers that).

 

 

A few months ago at NYC fashion week Rooney sat next to Emma in the front row of the Phillip Lim show. They had clashed; Emma in her bright red dress, and Rooney in black. Same designer, but their outfits were from two different seasons and it showed. Someone outfitted in beige really should have been inserted between them. The photos would have been much better if that had happened.

 

 

There are other parties, because that’s how things happen in LA. This time it’s a dinner party being thrown for and by Justin Bartha and Mélanie Laurent. Not Justin and an Olsen twin. Not anymore. Not that it matters too much, given the party is to celebrate Justin and Mélanie’s recent nuptials.

Jesse invites Rooney to be his plus one. Keira tags along.

“You’re wearing the same thing you wore yesterday,” Keira says, when Rooney meets them outside the restaurant.

Rooney is wearing a black Nina Ricci pencil dress.

“No, I’m not,” she tells Keira. Yesterday Rooney wore a black Givency sheath dress.

Keira rolls her eyes. Rooney ignores her.

She and Jesse leave Keira outside. She’s taken up smoking again.

“My whole apartment smells like an ash tray,” Jesse says, mournful.

“Good thing your cats aren’t around anymore.”

(Rooney should probably just give up on trying to say the right thing. Lost causes and all that jazz).

Inside the restaurant Mélanie greats them all happily; when she embraces Jesse the diamond ring on her finger glitters prettily and it’s all so very retro. Cocktail dresses, short tulle veils and true love. No longer ironic, but earnest and isn’t that the kicker?

Mélanie likes Jesse, this much is clear. Jesse likes her too. Rooney can tell. Maybe it’s that Mélanie’s older than him, maybe it’s because she is effortless in the way only French women can be. Either way they like each other and Rooney thinks this must make Justin pretty happy. Smooth sailing ahead etcetera, etcetera.    

Later when they’re seated, Jesse tells Rooney about the wedding.

Six months ago Justin and Mélanie did a film together. Now they’re married. It’s horrible.

“How does that happen?” she asks. “They’ve been dating for like a month.”

Jesse has no idea. He shrugs.

“I’m never getting married,” Rooney tells him while they watch Justin and Mélanie dance.

“No, you should,” Jesse says. “Get it out of the way now, and later when you’re in your fifties you can tell people you were married once.”

Jesse always thinks about the story he can tell.

Rooney doesn’t think he’ll ever get married either. Admittedly, married life would suit him, but in theory having a roommate would suit Jesse. Having anyone there on a permeate bases to care about him would be good for him. But theory is theory. Jesse can collect all the stories in the world but realistically she doesn’t think getting married will ever be one of the stories Jesse will tell.  Not when he lives half of his life in his head and the other half in movies.

 

 

(Eight pages of dialogue, ninety nine takes. That is how long Rooney has known Jesse, and how long Jesse has known her.  That is their history).

 

 

Before Jesse gives his best man speech, he and Rooney go out and stand with the smokers for a breath of somewhat fresh air. Since they’re in LA, the only smoker is Keira, but instead of smoking she’s eating wedding cake; wedding cake that has yet to be served.

“How did you get that?” Rooney asks her.

“I blew a waiter.”

Rooney looks at her. Keira licks icing off her bottom lip.

“Bullshit,” Jesse says.

Keira smirks and takes another bite of cake. She eats it with her mouth open and when she’s finished, she hands Jesse her plate to hold for her.

Keira was engaged once. But not anymore. Everyone knows that. Even Rooney saw the headlines in US Weekly.

It’s yesterday’s news now.

In her heels and licking icing off her fingers, Keira smiles when she catches Rooney’s gaze. It isn’t a nice smile, but then Keira isn’t a particularly nice person. Everyone knows that too.

From inside, someone calls Jesse’s name.

“Time to perform your best man duties,” Rooney reminds him.

They only really gave him one though. From the fire exit, she and Keira listen to him talk about Justin and tell inane stories about their time in NYC. Jesse’s speech is genuinely funny in parts. It makes people laugh and Justin cover his face in embarrassment. Though Keira leaves part way through, Rooney stays until the end.

Generally weddings freak Rooney out. Maybe it’s all the white. Or how all the ones she’s attended have either been held in the Plaza hotel or in the Hamptons.  Justin and Mélanie look happy though, Rooney supposes. Though to be fair she doesn’t know either of them well. But everyone knows everyone in places like LA, so it doesn’t matter.

And that is Rooney’s Saturday night.

 

 

On Sunday morning she thinks about going to a yoga class, but instead reads scripts.

None of them are any good.

By lunch time she gives up. David Fincher calls then. They talk about boring things like filming schedules and release dates and how Daniel Craig screened David’s last call. He didn’t invite David to his shotgun wedding either. (Or Rooney, but like that matters).

It takes Rooney longer than it should for her to piece it all together and realise that David speaking to her means she’s the sloppy second.

It doesn’t bother her as much as it probably should.

 

 

(Sometimes Rooney feels untouchable, even to herself. Like she is a hundred miles away from the nearest form of life). 

 

 

Rooney and Kate share an agent. (‘ _Just like we shared a room,’_ Kate likes to say; only they never once shared a room).  He calls Rooney more than Kate.

“I’m a slow reader,” she tells him when he asks what she thought of the scripts he sent her.

“Hurry the fuck up,” he tells her.

She thinks the studios should hurry the fuck up. She’s still waiting for two of her films to be released, and they were shot ages ago. It feels like she’s treading water. Why doesn’t someone else do some work for a change?

 

 

The next time her agent calls, it’s about some young Hollywood thing and how Rooney has to go to it. Apparently _people_ will be there and it’s important that she impresses/talks to them. Buttering palms, or however the saying goes. It’s all rather pedestrian, but it isn’t like she had any more interesting plans.

On the day of the event Rooney’s stylist drops by beforehand with shoes and clothes and gossip.

Rooney gets that her stylist thinks she’s boring, okay. But whatever. It isn’t as bad as how Keira turns up to Rooney’s place after said thing. Rooney hasn’t even been home long enough to get changed. Keira doesn’t care. She never cares.

“Jesse said you have a car.”

Rooney nods. Yes, she has a car.

“Good. We’re going to Best Buy.”

Rooney blinks. That isn’t something she ever thought she’d hear from Keira. “Can I ask why?”

Keira eyes her. “You may.”

Rooney looks at Keira and she looks straight back at Rooney. A part of Rooney knows better than to give Keira the satisfaction of asking, but Rooney doesn’t really care. “Why?”

“I’m going to by a TV. A big one. With surround sound.”

“Oh.”

“Yes,” Keira nods. “Fuck Jesse and his books. I want to watch _American Idol_ and _Sister Wives_.”

“Okay,” Rooney tells her. “That’s reasonable.”

 

 

When they get to Best Buy, Keira tells the sales person the exact same thing she told Rooney. To their credit, they merely nod and direct her to the media section of the store.

Still in her heels and black tea length Givenchy pencil dress, Rooney looks at prices and peers at DVD players while Keira is sequestered by the large LED screens. Rooney’s clutch is too small to hold her keys, so she carries them in her hand. There were pockets in her dress, but her stylist had them sowed shut. More streamline that way. Flattering too.

Rooney feels a little like one of those show homes, the ones with plastic fruit on the table and empty boxes of cereal on the shelf. She hopes no one looks too closely at her.

Vaguely she sees Keira point to one of the televisions and say, ‘I’ll take it.’

Not a moment too soon.

 

 

Keira pays a guy from Best Buy extra to come over and set the new TV up for her.

Together Rooney and Keira watch him fiddle with cables and plugs.

Rooney isn’t sure if this is what Kate does with her friends, but it’s pretty entertaining.

 

 

Things that don’t count in LA – Rooney lists them in her head. 

  1. Friends. (Why have friends when you can have co-stars?)
  2. The one time she gave Channing Tatuam a handjob at Sundance.
  3. Nice dresses.



Rooney didn’t know any of this when she was nominated for an Academy Award. Her fault really.

 

 

There is another Young Hollywood event. An awards show this time.

Rinse and repeat while dressed in something Riccardo Tisci made for her.

On the drive back, Rooney goes shopping for liquor. She likes buying booze in the middle of the night and going home and getting drunk while watching ESPN. If she were to call it anything, she thinks she’d call it a ritual of hers. There is something inescapably seedy about the way the cashier twists a paper bag around the neck of a bottle of wine and the way the bottles clink together when she walks out of the store, especially after events or awards shows when her lipstick has almost worn off and she has lost all feeling in her toes from wearing ridiculously high heels. If pushed, she might say it’s one of her favorite things to do.

She’s trying to decide between two different bottles of white wine when she senses someone reading over her shoulder.

“That one,” Joseph says. “Definitely the Napa Valley wine.”

A long time ago, she used to watch him on that show with the aliens. He had long hair and was all gangly arms and legs. Funnily enough, he looked a little like Kate before puberty hit her. Now he looks like someone put him together very precisely. He makes everyone else look like a mess in contrast, even Rooney in borrowed haute couture.

Over his shoulder there are a group of well-dressed people. She supposes they’re his friends. One of them might be his date. Another one might be in love with him. He’s enough of a romantic for that to be true.

Rooney is wearing black and her hair is sticky from all the hairspray her stylist used to set it into a sleek pony tail. When they ask her if she wants to come to a thing their friends is throwing downtown, she shakes her head. But she’s dressed for it – they say that.

“Come on,” Joseph says like that is enough to get her to follow him.

And the thing is, it is.

The problem with Joseph is he is the hipster personification of a gateway drug. He’s worse than Michael Cera. While Michael is the reason the _Arrested Development_ movie isn’t already in the cinema’s, Joseph is the kind of person who knows everyone and will call anyone a friend. Even someone he knows only through other people, like her. Like it’s simple, he gives her his number and takes her to this garden party thing that Nora Zehetner has thrown together at the last minute.

Rooney doesn’t know what is up with Joe’s ex’s throwing parties for him. It feels rather passé to her. But she doesn’t throw parties, so what would she know. 

For some reason someone invited Jesse. Probably Joseph.  

They know each other through literary things. They also, at one point, shared a dealer. But Joseph is trying the clean living thing at the moment, so it’s just Jesse who uses Arielle. Well, just Jesse and a nice chunk of the art house set. And Woody Harrelson, who actually is responsibly for separately introducing Jesse and Joseph to Arielle.

Arielle is in her late seventies. She once was a chorus girl, like the golden era kind. Feathers and Busby Berkeley. That sort of thing. Now she sells pot to supplement her pension. She grows it in her garden among her tomatoes and artichokes.

Rooney worries about Jesse getting busted for carrying.

There are things in life that are possible and things that are probably. But LA is fucked. Possible and probable don’t mean much when everyone is fair game. Sure, Perez likes come back kids. But who’s going to hire Lindsey Lohan?  Certainly not David or Woody. They can barely handle their own antics let alone Jesse’s.

(Also there was this one time Arielle gave Jesse some acid for old time’s sake. She’s always liked him the most out of all her clients. For some reason Jesse reminds her of Cary Grant, in that Jesse opens doors for Arielle and says please and thank you. Which is nice, but there is a difference between sometimes smoking up on every other weekend, and dropping acid.

So yeah, Rooney worries).

 

 

Joseph (‘ _Call me Joe’_ ) points Jesse out when he shows her where to leave her wine (‘ _No one should have to drink alone._ ’) She doesn’t really want to leave her wine. Unlike the stuff Nora is drinking, Rooney’s wine isn’t from a box. But like that counts for anything when Matthew Gray Gruber is taking her wine from her hands while thanking her for being such a good guest (‘ _Not like those other ungrateful moochers,’_ ).

Rooney scowls. Matthew doesn’t notice. He wouldn’t though. Not when Gillian Jacobs has arrived.

Rooney doesn’t know either of them, but she recognizes the looks they are exchanging. Fuck. Some things should stay on twitter.

Helping herself to her own wine, Rooney makes herself somewhat scarce while she still has the chance. Normally Jesse does the same. Though normally Jesse prefers not to leave his bedroom. But apparently he came under his own power which is odd. Leaning up against the window, Kat Denning and Emile Hersh are talking with Jesse about his play. Emile has written one too. No one wants to do anything with it. His agent’s been shopping it about town for the last six months. No interest. Not even from LiLo. Jesse is appropriately empathetic. Rooney knows herself well enough to know she won’t be so she leaves them to it.

It’s unexpected how into the LA thing Jesse has gotten lately. But maybe that’s what happens with Keira Knightley is camped out in your guest bedroom and your ex has taken over your home town.

Keira isn’t here tonight.

Neither is Zooey.

An hour later Rooney’s drinking alone on the roof. From the fire escape she thinks she sees something, maybe Zooey, maybe a dark haired woman who looks a little like her loitering outside the building. From a distance it’s hard to tell.

Fuck young Hollywood.

 

 

The next morning Rooney wakes sprawled over an ancient deckchair with an empty bottle of wine next to her. Everyone else is gone.

Hung over and alone on the roof, it takes her a while to get moving.

If a tree falls in a forest...

 

 

Two days later Rooney still doesn’t understand how things like Joseph and his parties happen to her.

“It’s a process of elimination,” Kate explains over beer and bad food. “Nora gets high with Matthew and then they goes shopping at Cost Co and then Matthew invites Joseph who mentions it to Andrew which annoys Emma because she doesn’t hear until after he’s told Max and me and by then Joseph’s already told Emile and Zooey and Ellen who is with Jesse at the time and then Jesse says something to you.”

LA parties sound a whole lot like a food chain. Rooney remembers making diagrams of them in grade school. Big fish eating small fish and how did she end up as krill in this scenario?

“How did this happen?” Rooney asks. “I think I need to know so I can stop it from ever happening again.”

Kate sips at her beer and shrugs. “I don’t have a clue. I doubt it’s due to anything you’ve done.”

Rooney purses her lips. She isn’t sure she likes being on the end of a phone chain, especially not one without Armie Hammer in it.

“He’s in Texas baking cupcakes with Elizabeth,” Kate sniffs. “Don’t be childish.”

Rooney isn’t childish. If she was childish she would have gone and talked to him the last time she saw him, that time when he had his shirt sleeves rolled up and she could see the tendons of his arm flex and stretch whenever his raised his glass to take a slip of wine. She would have talked to him and if he said something vaguely funny, she would have touched his arm and laughed. She thinks of telling Kate that but Kate already knows. Besides, they are meeting Petra Ecclestone, because she’s moving to LA and the three of them have know each other for so long it’s implied that they are friends even though none of them have all that much in common apart from where they like to holiday and who they tend to hire when they feel the need to redecorate their homes.

Petra is late. But that is because her sister is with her. Tamara couldn’t be on time to save her life.

Rooney is hungry, but Kate won’t let her order anything.

“It’s rude,” Kate comments, sipping iced water.

“Being late is ruder,” Rooney argues.

Kate smiles. “It is. But that is no excuse.”

“It could be.”

“But it isn’t going to be,” Kate says firmly, and there ends the discussion.

In the end Tamara and Petra turn up a quarter of an hour later in Herve Leger dresses, with Hermes bags on their arms. In their wake, bored looking paparazzi trail after them, still somewhat unsure if they are worth bothering. They aren’t, but then again what does that matter?

“I’m sorry,” Petra says as she sits down. “Traffic.”

Tamara nods. “It was worse than London.”

By her side, Rooney feels Kate bristle at their vague apologies.  

Kate’s still a bit annoyed over how Petra and Tamara crashed their mini break in the South of France and hired the penthouse she wanted. Rooney’s kind of used to it by now. The four of them always seem to end up at the same bars and the Ecclestone always get the better VIP tables even though they dress like thirteen year old girls. 

Tamara and Petra are sweet enough, Rooney supposes. But now they’ll be booking reservations in the same LA restaurants and stealing their personal trainers. What is it about Londoners that make them all want to come to LA? Keira, Andrew, that annoying blonde friend of theirs who dresses like Rooney and Kate’s grandmother and now Petra.   

It’s awful how fickle fashion can be. Ruins it for the rest of them.

 

 

Where Kate and Rooney are friendly with Petra and Tamara, Jesse and Joseph are friends with each other. Good friends even. While Ellen was filming, Joe came out to Rome a few times and the three of them hung out and got high together in their trailers. It was a thing. They smoked and played covers of Beatles songs on acoustic guitars and talked about literature like no one read it but them.

Rooney’s heard it all before and she can only thank God she and Jesse never got high enough to be that pretentious.

Apparently Joseph is serious about the Zooey thing, because he calls Jesse for help and spends the entire afternoon on the phone with him. They end up talking about the Beat generation instead.  It ties quite nicely into the whole actor’s actor thing they have going on. Sean Penn would be proud.

Rooney listens to them recite poetry from Jesse’s couch. Keira hasn’t come home yet. This means Rooney gets to watch whatever she likes.

According to what people have said (and what TMZ has written), Zooey is back on the market. Divorced – or near enough. Rooney thinks it’s a bit soon to be making the plans that Joe is clearly making. But what would she know?

From Jesse’s side, it sounds like a love story.

Love stories make Rooney uncomfortable. First Justin and Mélanie, now Joe and Zooey; Rooney finds it’s uncomfortable enough having someone stay the night.

 

 

Sometimes it feels like their lives are the plot of a B movie of the week.

 

 

Andrew’s play closes. He and Emma go to the Tony’s together and then come back to LA a week before everyone expected them.

Rooney supposes this means Jesse will head back to NYC, now the city is free to be reclaimed as his.

(She might not be Kate, but there are some things that are universal).

 

 

But Jesse doesn’t go anywhere.

(Rooney thinks that is why Andrew leaves NYC early). 

 

 

There is a welcome home thing. (Of course there is a welcome home thing).  

Everyone who doesn’t have anything better to do makes an appearance.

Rooney ends up driving Portia Doubleday. They haven’t really hung out since doing _Youth in Revolt_ , but that’s not too bad because Portia’s managed to keep touch with Justin Long (and Michael, but like that’s a challenge) and he’s out of town which means they can crash at his place at the end of the night, rather than drive all the way back across LA. 

Despite the guest list, the party itself isn’t particularly memorable.

From the kitchen, Rooney drinks a warm bottle of beer and tries to figure out if she knows Armie well enough to go over and speak to him. They spent a couple of days filming and a few months doing press, but she never did very much of it compared to the others and what she did do wasn’t often with him. But in the low light of Andrew’s apartment, with the top two buttons of his shirt undone, Armie looks handsome in a way Rooney thinks she’d like to stand closer too. Just to get a better look.

His wife, like always, is somewhere doing something with baked goods, but Rooney is indifferent.

She doesn’t want to do anything. She just wants to look. That’s the difference. That’s the thing that counts in a court of law. Not that she’s in one. But she once did a guest spot in one of those crime drama things. It had been very gritty and very formulaic and she had said stuff like _‘I’m not telling you anything’_ and ‘ _I did it, okay, I did it._ ’

At the Academy Awards she had sat with Jesse and Andrew and Armie and David and that had been formulaic too. Dresses and glittery jewels and the next day Kelly Osbourne had said something about how miserable Rooney looked on the red carpet. The dress Rooney wore was nice though, Kelly thought.

Kelly Osbourne hangs out with Miley Cyrus. To Rooney, that says it all. Only Emma’s best friend is Taylor Swift. So maybe it doesn’t say anything. It’s difficult to keep track of all the glass houses in Hollywood. Besides, the latest Rooney heard, Taylor was dating Jake Gyllenhaal. Or a teenage Kennedy kid. (Case in point).  

Taylor Swift is here. In person. She’s dressed in a cardigan and tea length pastel blue dress that makes her look not a day over sixteen. Rooney can’t help but stare. Who wants to look like a teenager? Even teenagers don’t want to look like teenagers. It’s strange. But the whole night is strange. Garrett Hedlund is eating carrots and dip, Alexa Chung is sitting on the arm of Andrew’s sofa and Jesse is nodding to something Kat is saying.

It strikes Rooney as decidedly odd; here are all these different people who Andrew knows or sort of knows or that Emma knows, (plus a selection of people invited so Jesse has someone to talk to). All in the same room at the same time. Like it’s something normal, like they’re all friends rather than a collection of twitter feeds and followers and magazine covers.

For a while, Rooney kills time talking to Justin and Mélanie. They’re still caught up doing the newlywed thing and apparently it involves thanking her for the bottle of wine she gave then when Jesse took Rooney to their reception. It’s awkward and somehow they end up talking about French wine for a good portion of the night. Rooney only escapes when they stop someone else that need to thank for a sub par wedding present.

She startles when Keira appears and hands her a chilled bottle of beer.

“Couldn’t you just hate him?” she asks.

Rooney blinks. Keira’s expression is mean and whip beautiful. She is always like that, though. It’s difficult to pick up on subtleties when Keira doesn’t offer them.

“Andrew,” she identifies with a bored huff.

“Andrew,” Rooney echoes.

Rooney looks and sees him. Golden and still carrying some left over muscle bulk from _Spiderman,_ he looks just how a movie star ought to look. Objectively she gets what’s the appeal of all that, so she nods. Andrew. Couldn’t she just hate him? Sure, why not? Probably be easier that way.

“He’s like that with everyone,” Keira explains. “Falls in love at the drop of a hat.”

She laughs.

“Only two people have ever loved me,” she says, eying the arm Andrew has wrapped around Emma’s waist. “One decided at the last minute that he’d rather not marry me and the other didn’t even really fall in love with me, just who I was playing at the time.”

Rooney doesn’t really know what to say to that.

Sometimes it feels like a series of dares with Keira. With her, truths are told to shock and secrets shared just to see the damage they inflict. After all, why lie when the truth is far more brutal? It’s overwhelming.  Rooney doesn’t know how to deal with such pitiless honesty. Keira knows it. She smiles, all cheekbones and bleached teeth; smug in her victory.

 _Touché, Keira_ , Rooney allows. _Touché._

 

 

No one has ever loved Rooney like Andrew has loved Keira and Jesse.

It doesn’t bother her as much as it probably should.

 

 

It’s been about a year or two since Rooney last saw Andrew. In that time everyone all got older, he broke up with his girlfriend, got a new one, made a blockbuster or two, visited Jesse a few times, and probably some other stuff but details tire Rooney just as much as they annoy Keira.

In short, the more things change the more they stay the same.

When Rooney goes to refresh her drink, she runs into him. For five minute they talk about how much he missed her and how happy he is to see her and then he slings an arm around her shoulder and kisses her temple like it’s all true.

He’s very personable. Huge eyes and sincerity; Rooney sees the appeal in that too. No wonder he’s the next big thing. (No wonder Keira hates him).

With an arm around her shoulder, he introduces her to people, to Emma who Rooney’s already meet, to Alexa who is un-ironically wearing a floral playsuit and finally to Garrett who is golden too, but awkward where Andrew has this innate confidence about him.

“Garrett here, is going to teach me how to surf,” Andrew tells her, as if it is something worth noting.

Rooney looks at Garrett. He shrugs. “Well, I’m going to try.”

“Try?” Andrew exclaims. “We’re going to do more than try.”

Garrett laughs. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll see.”

Garrett really is golden, Rooney thinks the longer she looks at him. The corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles and it’s really no wonder Walter Salle likes him so much. She thinks she doesn’t mind him either.

“I could teach you to surf too,” he offers.

Now she laughs. Loudly.

He shakes his head. “It was worth a try.”

Rooney thinks he’s kind. It makes sense that he and Andrew are friends. Andrew is kind too, ridiculously so. To a fault, really. Though it’s not his fault that his heart gets him into such trouble.

From across the room, she catches sight of Jesse disappearing with Kat. Rooney catches sight of Andrew’s smile faltering too. Only for a moment, but that’s all it takes. Then he is all smiles and if Rooney didn’t know better she shouldn’t be able to tell.

Towards the end of the night she catches sight of Jesse again when she and Keira are leaving.

Standing on Andrew’s balcony, Andrew has cornered him against the railing. He looks upset – they’re shouting. Rooney can’t hear what they are saying, but Jesse isn’t looking at him.

“God,” Keira exclaims, rolling her eyes. “Not again.”

Rooney feels like laughing. They’re in LA. Nothing is original in LA. Keira should know that by now.

 

 

Maybe it’d be easier if Jesse could hate Andrew. Rooney remembers how he and Jesse had been on set. She’s never had a best friend. Not one like Andrew who smiled and laughed and worked his way into her life so completely like he did with Jesse. Instead Rooney has Kate; from the day Rooney was born she has had Kate. Maybe that disqualifies Rooney from having an opinion. She can’t claim to understand relationships that exist outside the slippery parameters of what sibling share because it’s never been an issue for her.  But she does remember how Andrew and Jesse were on set. How fascinated they were by each other, how close.

Now it’s Justin Timberlake hanging out with Jesse in LA.

 

 

Jesse and Justin are friends in that Justin has Jesse over for brunch and Jesse never feels too uncomfortable about attending.  In truth, Rooney gets the impression that Jesse actually gets on with Jessica far better than Justin, but Rooney also gets the impression that Justin doesn’t mind because it’s the same for him. Jessica is just that sort of person. A throwback almost with soft eyes and a smart mouth.   

When Rooney comes to pick Jesse up, he and Jessica are talking about Williamsburg for Jessica has always known what she wanted, and under what terms and where Justin might be thinking about buying a place for them in the Hamptons, Jessica’s already planning their move to NYC. Even without knowing Jessica all that well, Rooney gets the feeling Jessica’s the sort who sees the glass as half full. (This doesn’t make her naïve. A glass is just a glass. One can choose to perceive it any way one wishes). 

They talk about that while Rooney drives Jesse to an audition.

“It feels like everyone is moving to New York,” Jesse says.

Rooney isn’t. But she gets that isn’t the point so she shrugs.

Jesse doesn’t quite fit in LA, but she doesn’t think he’d fit anywhere. A few times she’s heard people talk about how he is such a New Yorker, but it’s a concept that feels strange to imagine. New York, to Rooney, feels like the sort of place that should eat Jesse alive.

Max stayed with Jesse in his dive of an apartment once; all yellowing old newspapers and the sound of the upstairs neighbors fighting filtering through the oak floorboards. A typical cool kids place, but without the cool. All cat piss and shitty post war plumbing. His LA condo is featureless in comparison.

“Are you going back to NYC soon?” she asks.

Jesse shrugs. “Joseph needs some help with this thing.”

That’s answer enough, Rooney supposes.

Up ahead, traffic slows to a stop. She applies the brake and slows the car down. Next to her, Jesse laces his fingers together on his lap.

He’s a good passenger, Rooney thinks. She likes how he wears his seatbelt without being asked.

The audition she’s driving him too is for a political thriller. While waiting for him in the parking lot for him to finish, Rooney uses her iPhone to looks up the book it’s based on. She hasn’t heard of the author before. Reading isn’t really her thing.

Andrew calls. It confuses Rooney until she realizes he is calling for Jesse.

“He isn’t answering his cell.”

“He’s unavailable,” she tells him, because Jesse is and because she likes the blandness of the word. Everyone’s an actor in LA. Everyone says too much when they speak.

“Are you his answering service?”

She leans back in the car seat. “Funny,” she tells him, because she supposes it is. Kate probably would have chuckled. “But not really, no. Maybe his taxi service. Did you know his driver’s license is four years out of date?”

Andrew is amused. “I didn’t know he had one.”

Andrew is very charming, Rooney thinks. If she was cold, she imagines he’d be the sort to give her his coat and cup her hands in his and blow warm air into them.     

At that party, the one to welcome him home, Rooney and Portia had drunk too much and Jesse had driven them to Justin’s place. Andrew and Armie had had to carry them down and put them in Rooney’s car. Rooney remembers that because Armie had held her. He’d been so strong and she was so dizzy; she clung to him like the railings on the side of a yacht and buried her face in the curve of his neck. His skin had smelt of sweat and cologne, and she had been so dizzy when he buckled her into the passenger seat of the car. So very dizzy.

Andrew had pulled Jesse aside before he got in the car.

Rooney had lent her face against the window and even now she remembers the way he had reached for Jesse and the way Jesse flinched when Andrew touched him.

Andrew, Emma and Jesse are friends. That’s just as much the truth as it is a lie.

Rooney saw them. She was on set with Andrew and Jesse for eight days. She’s been in LA with Jesse for seven weeks. She saw Emma in NYC. She doesn’t understand how the three of them work. But she’s never loved anyone like she supposes they love each other.

 

 

Emma’s hair is brown when Rooney sees her again. She probably has another film about to go into production. There’s a joke there. Rooney’s sure of it. Maybe Kate would know it. Kate’s good with things like that. Rooney really isn’t. But anyway, Emma’s hair is brown. Rooney’s hair is still black. But this time Rooney is wearing red. Valentino red, bright overwhelming red; the kind everyone has to look at. The kind people can’t help but look at. At the end of the night, Rooney doesn’t remember what Emma wore, not even vaguely.

But it’s easy to assume their outfits didn’t match.

 

 

Rooney doesn’t dislike Emma.

They don’t even know each other. They’ve been to some of the same parties and shared a few red carpets. They even share mutual acquaintances and a couple of mutual co-stars.  But they don’t know each other. All Rooney knows is how whenever Emma’s in the same room with Jesse and Andrew, they both leave with her perfume on their fingertips and her lipstick staining their lips. That and how Emma and Andrew love each other, Jesse too, and how Jesse doesn’t know how to love anyone without it fucking him up. 

They come over to his place every now and then. Separately and together.

It messes with Rooney’s TV schedule. No one cares about football in LA. She blames David Beckham. If it wasn’t for him she could watch the Steelers without hearing Jesse gasp like a fish in his room. 

 

 

“It’s kind of advanced fucking,” Keira comments when she and Rooney are watching _American Idol’s_ Hollywood week.

Rooney still hasn’t been able to work out if Keira actually likes _American Idol_ unironically. Or at all. But Rooney does, a little.

“I think any fucking is advance fucking for Jesse.”

Keira nods. “True.”

 

 

On the weekend, Rooney has dinner with her parents. It’s nice. Her mother has taken up tennis.

“You should come to the club with me and we can play doubles with Max and Kate.”

Rooney doesn’t play tennis. She watches it.

“You could bring one of your new friends, if you want,” her mother offers.

Rooney is confused.

Her mother takes a sip of her drink. “It’d be nice to meet them.”

“Who?”

“Your new friends,” her mother elaborates. “Kate told me about how you’ve been spending a lot of time with that boy you did that film with and his roommate.”

Rooney wrinkles her nose.  “Jesse and Keira?”

Her mother nods.

Them? Rooney can’t imagine either one of them willingly going to her mother’s club for a game of tennis. God. The mere thought of it is enough to make Rooney shudder.

Her mother shrugs.

Easy come, easy go.

They talk about Prague instead. Kate wants to holiday there in the summer. Rooney is pretty sure she’ll be working, but that’s up to David and his people. Rooney’s mother doesn’t particularly like David, but she finds it difficult to care for too many people at once. Rooney and Kate are normally more than enough at one time.

 

 

When Rooney gets home, she rings Kate.

“Why does our mother know Jesse and Keira?”

“I told her,” Kate says simply.

“Why?”

“Because she asked.”

Rooney doesn’t think that is an explanation.   

“You know how she worries.”

“But there isn’t anything to worry about.”

“Roo,” Kate sighs.

Rooney bristles at the sound. “There isn’t.”

“Come on,” Kate says. “You have to know what you do isn’t normal. Who goes up on the roof at a party to drink alone? Who thinks cats can be replaced like library books?”

Rooney –

Kate is Rooney’s sister, her best friend.

“I love you,” Kate says quietly. “But I worry.”

“I’m okay,”

“You’re lonely, Roo,” Kate tells her, and Rooney doesn’t know what to say to that.

Rooney has Kate, their family and that’s always been enough. More than enough.

“I know,” Kate says, when Rooney tells her that. “I know, but we all want you to have more. You deserve more.”

Maybe Rooney does. But she’s never wanted more.

Kate sighs.

“You should come and play tennis with us,” Kate says, swiftly changing subjects. “It might be good for you.”

Rooney makes a face.

She does enough things she doesn’t want to do; she doesn’t need to add tennis to the list. 

(Of course her agent would probably disagree with this assessment if he heard it.

But he would).

 

 

There is a film being directed by Steven Soderbergh. In it there is a role. A Gossip Girl is cast. None of this would matter to Rooney as all, until funding falls through because of said Gossip Girl. (Or so ‘a source’ says according to TMZ). Then the role is offered to her.

“Sloppy seconds,” Keira muses when she finds out. “Figures.”

“Fuck you,” Rooney tells her, because really, fuck Keira.

“You should never allow yourself to be anyone’s second choice, didn’t your parents teach you that.”

Jesse nods in agreement.

Rooney scowls. Whatever. The script is good. Better than the majority of trash her agent tries to sell her on. She’s already signed on.

When she goes to lunch with the Steven, Channing is there. That isn’t a surprise given he’s the lead. The fact he pretends not to know her is. God, how high school. She didn’t think people actually behaved like that in real life.

She shakes his hand anyway and lets him tell her how much he enjoyed her performance as Lisbeth Salander. Then, because she can, she decides not to tell him how much she liked his performance in _Public Enemies_. What does it matter?

(If she was cynical, she’d be wondering if he was going to pull her aside to beg her not to tell his wife that he betrayed on her).

 

 

Filming is in LA. The schedule is tight. Five weeks, maybe six if the funding holds up.

Jesse offers to help her run lines.

Currently he is avoiding Andrew and Emma. Rooney knows because Keira has caught him screening their calls. Keira being Keira thinks it’s all very high school of them. It isn’t really surprising that she finds it entertaining, but then again, she isn’t speaking to Andrew either (she doesn’t bother with Emma; Keira doesn’t tend to be bothered to do much), not that Andrew would know.

Given all of this, they expect him to turn up at Jesse’s condo any day now. Due to this, running lies isn’t the easiest task. It does fill time. Jesse doesn’t make a very good Channing Tatum. Neither does Keira. But she doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do.

“You could have done better,” Keira concludes after three pages of dialogue.

Rooney looks at the script. It’s a solid script – it’s Steven Soderbergh – but yeah, she probably could have done better. “But what’s the point?”

If she isn’t acting, she’s unemployed. That’s the truth of it.

Keira shrugs. “Who knows?”

No one quite knows what Keira’s plans are, or if she has any. Her last film is already getting Oscar buzz but other than being on hand to promote it, Keira hasn’t offered any indication of what will fill her calendar in the future.

Maybe that’s why Andrew asked her to stay with Jesse.

But what would Rooney know? She’s three pages into a script where she’s a pill addict. Kate was right, type casting was something to look out for. Funny. A year ago Rooney was being offered girl-next-door/girlfriend roles, now she’d being pitched junkie parts.

“Them’s the breaks, kid,” Jesse tells her.

“Tell that to Michael Cera,” she retorts, because really.

 

 

They give up running lines by the afternoon. Keira has left by then; off to do something more interesting. Her exact words. Rooney doesn’t hold it against her. You can’t, not with Keira. Jesse agrees, but then again Jesse would know.

He takes Rooney to lunch with Joseph.

Upon arrival, it becomes clear that Rooney really should have followed Keira’s lead.

“Rooney,” Joseph greets her. “I’m so glad you are here. I need your help.”

That, it a lie. But it would be.

Apparently whatever plan Jesse and Joseph had in the works re: Zooey, are being brainstormed. Still.

Over nectarine and zucchini salad, they talk about possible scenarios they could facilitate and lines that could be used and how much they enjoyed rereading the latest translation of Aesop’s Fables. It’s all very serious and they’re very earnest and it’s for the best that Keira isn’t here to witness their pretentiousness in person.  She really would eat them both alive. It’s a wonder they’ve both survived so long more or less intact. Maybe it’s to do with being a child actor? Rooney can’t say either way.

Apparently, Joseph and Zooey did a film together. (Rooney saw it, but most people her age did). During shooting, they fell in love and for a little while they were in love. Truly. 

It seems like everyone did a film together at one point or another.

(It seems like everyone falls in love with their co-stars. What an awful cliché).

Now Zooey is doing a TV show and Joseph has decided he is in love with her anew – or, that he perhaps was always in love with her. It’s quite a feat of fancy, but as is he. Dark eyes and dressed in an exceedingly well cut blazer, he could almost be a character from one of his films. That would probably be more believable.

“Kangaroo,” Joseph says at one point. “I need your input.”

She doesn’t think that he does. She also doesn’t like being called ‘Kangaroo.’

“You should do another film together,” Rooney suggests idly.

It’s a joke, but Joseph and Jesse take her seriously.

They would though.

The whole thing is ridiculous. Plans and schemes – who really thinks like that?

(Rooney should know better.

They’re in Hollywood. Everyone thinks like that).

 

 

A film isn’t a relationship.

A film is just a film.

That’s the part everyone in LA seems to forget.

(Maybe Rooney should move to NYC).

 

 

After lunch Rooney walks Jesse home.

Rooney isn’t sure if Kate was right or wrong about her, or about Jesse and Keira.

 

 

Maybe no one has ever loved Rooney, but she’s never loved anyone either. Not anyone she wasn’t related too.

Perhaps that's the problem.

 

 

Keira goes on a date. A guy asks her out, and she says yes. His name is James Righton and he’s a musician in a band. Some of their music is on Rooney’s iPod. When Rooney tells Keira, she makes a face and tells her not to be so annoying. (She actually says ‘déclassé’ but Rooney gets what she means).

Rooney meets him, when he comes and picks Keira up.

The date feels quite out of the blue, and it isn’t until James knocks on Jesse’s door, that Rooney believes he’s real and not an excuse to get out of one of Joseph’s parties.

In person it is quite clear that James is old fashioned for a rock star. Rooney is delighted by the discovery. She tells him that to his face and for the second time that evening, Keira tells her to stop being so annoying. Rooney gets it then, that James is someone special, someone worth taking note of. Keira likes him. Keira really likes him.

It makes Rooney bite her lip, because Keira doesn’t like anyone. Not even Andrew, who likes everyone. Or Joseph who everyone can’t help but like.

 

 

The date goes well.

James calls Keira the next day.

 

 

The more Rooney gets to know James, the clearer it becomes that he isn’t very LA. It’s kind of amazing really, how un-LA he is. But then again, he isn’t much of a rock star either. He might sing vocals, but he plays the keyboard. The keyboard. It isn’t the 80s. Keyboard isn’t cool. He is, though. Well, a little. As if he’d always been there, he picks Keira up and takes her out and brings her back with wine stained teeth and laughing. Keira lets him. She doesn’t say no when he starts turning up in the morning with coffee either. The only time she speaks up is when Jesse complains about James borrowing his books without asking.

“Don’t be childish,” she snaps. “It’s just a book.”

Jesse makes a face. A book isn’t just a book to him.

Keira rolls her eyes.

They’ve been living together for months now. The arrangement doesn’t make any more sense now than it did when Keira first moved in.

This really can’t be what Andrew intended. But Rooney isn’t sure what he intended. Sitting Indian style on the carpet in front of the TV, she and James watch soccer together. He has a lot of opinions about it. With a patient voice, he explains the rules and why they all need to hate David Beckham.

“I can’t hate him. Victoria is making me a dress,” she tells him, her mouth pinched. (If she could hate him, she would).

He makes a face. “Roo, that isn’t the point.”

She kind of thinks it is, but she likes how it didn’t take him any time at all to shorten her name and how he happy he is when Keira orders them hamburgers for lunch.

“I’m a vegetarian,” Jesse complains. “I can’t eat that.”

“So? I’m not your mother,” Keira retorts. “Get your own lunch if you’re so picky.”

“Not wanting to eat meat isn’t being picky.”

Keira eyes him. “Then don’t eat meat.”

That is it, as far as she is concerned. Rooney recognizes her tone. James smiles brightly at Keira, as if delighted by the entire exchange, and tugs her down into his lap.

(In the end, Jesse does eat the hamburger Keira ordered for him. No one comments on it. But after lunch Keira is more satisfied with herself than usual).

 

 

Quietly and almost overnight, where there were three, now there are four.

Rooney, Keira, Jesse and James.

It’s kind of wonderful. (Of course that becomes a problem).

 

 

Rooney drives Keira home after her fourth date with James.

During dinner with Kate and Max, Keira had called from the ladies room (which she called the ‘powder room’) and demanded a lift. She didn’t explain why or say please.

Cautiously, Rooney watches Keira from the corner of her eyes, noting her mud covered heels, and seeing the dark splotches of dirt splattered on her ankles. James took her to an outdoor gig. A few of his friends were in the band and he had been excited for her to meet them.  Now Keira’s face is hard. Lips tight and eyes dark. Rooney sees it all on the drive back to Jesse’s apartment.

Keira doesn’t say ‘ _what the fuck are you looking at?_ ’ because she is not Emma. Keira is cruel and clever and not Emma in any shape or form.

Sassy is for _Seventeen_ cover girls selling lipstick.

Rooney isn’t fair and she isn’t smart. But she isn’t too terribly afraid of Keira, not even like this.

She shadows Keira up to Jesse’s building and into his condo and when Keira leaves the guest bedroom door open, Rooney follows her. Together they lie in bed; Keira facing away from Rooney, Rooney curling her body around Keira’s. After a while, Rooney thinks Keira starts to cry. Rooney feels the shake of Keira’s body, the slick texture of Keira’s silk Tom Ford slip dress bunched up in her hands, and the soft texture of her fox fur coat against her cheeks. Rooney tries puts them into order, tries to reconfigures them into something she can understand.

Andrew loves at the drop of a hat.

Andrew loves like it is easy and for him it is.

He doesn’t know how it can be difficult, or how it can frighten even people like Keira when faced with someone as kind as James.

Later, much later when Keira has pushed Rooney away and gone to intimidate Jesse about something or another, Rooney thinks maybe Andrew is the only fearless person she knows.

 

 

In the morning Rooney wakes alone and yawning, she borrows one of Keira’s tops, a tan Miu Miu blouse and wears it with a pair of wide legged trousers that Keira’s stylists left with a few other outfit choices for her upcoming appearance on Jay Leno.

“By all means, help yourself,” Keira grumbles as she stretched by the window, though not with any true displeasure in her voice.

In the morning light, she looks worn and delicate and like she can’t stand to be looked at. James calls while Rooney is getting dressed. He sounds worried and Keira is more vulnerable than Rooney has ever seen her. Keira isn’t Andrew. But Rooney thinks she knows James well enough to know he wouldn’t want Keira any other way. Maybe that’s what frightened Keira so badly? It would frighten Rooney.

When Keira hangs up, Rooney focuses on buttoning the cuffs of the blouse. The buttons are tiny; little pearls and rhinestones. It isn’t Rooney’s style. But then again, what is? Her hair is a different colour than it was a month ago, and her stylist has taken to bringing Rooney white dresses.

Rooney hates white. It looks good when photographed though. 

From outside Keira’s room, Rooney hears Jesse pad around. While Keira showers, he and Rooney smoke up in front of the TV Jesse pretends he doesn’t watch.

“Big night?” Jesse asks, while Kat Von D tattoos a face on the curve of someone shoulder.

Rooney shrugs.

Jesse leaves it at that.

He doesn’t need much. (Probably less than Rooney – not that Emma or Andrew would agree).

When Keira finds them she sneers at the joint Jesse offers. “Do I look like a fucking hippy?”

In the sunlight, with the ends of her wet hair dripping on her shoulders, she doesn’t look much different than she usually does. If Rooney hadn’t seen Keira breakdown the night before, she never would have guessed. But Rooney doesn’t spend much time guessing. Instead she and Jesse scoot over to make room for Keira. Folding herself down into the vacated space, and she pulls out a packet of cigarettes and rolls her eyes when Jesse offers her a light.

“Please,” she says, pulling an antique silver lighter out of her pocket.

Rooney watches Keira carefully. It could be any morning, Rooney thinks.

“If you’re not careful, your face will get stuck like that,” Keira tells her when she catches Rooney staring.

Rooney frowns. But she looks away and together the three of them sit together and watch ESPN for the remainder of the morning.

  

 

Kate makes Rooney tell repeat the story when Rooney tells her. They’re at Nina Ricci show room and it’s not really the best place for it, but Rooney tells Kate everything. It’s Kate who puts things into context for Rooney. Always has been. But this time Rooney’s mostly worked it out for herself. She thinks that means they’re friends. Her, Keira and Jesse.

“Got it in one, baby sis,” Kate says, nodding approvingly. “Got it in one.”

And that’s not bad, really. Not bad at all.

 

 

 

 

 .

**Author's Note:**

> Find/follow me on [tumblr](http://www.pr-scatterbrain.tumblr.com) if you want <3


End file.
